Monsoon
by hellohades
Summary: Jack finds that he and Pitch are more similar than he originally thought, and he finds comfort in that, and perhaps, something more...
1. The Kiss

**Hello~! Let me know what you think of the story!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from or of Rise of The Guardians.**

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**Monsoon [one]  
**_The Kiss_

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Jack stared out at the barren wasteland of snow and ice and winter's coldness. His heart ached and felt so much more numbness than it had despite the snow. He thought of the friends he could have had, the time they could have shared together; him, Tooth, North, Bunnymund; the Yeti's, the Elves, even, if he'd chosen differently, Pitch, perhaps.

He laughed inwardly at the thought. Chosen differently? The grey skinned man smiling down at him from his dungeon of darkness, full of shadows and Nightmares, where Jack would unavoidably stay, since the children would fear him, and the Guardian would hate him. He thought of the way the elegant man moved, his shadow carrying him across rooms and worlds like the wind carried Jack. He thought of Pitch's eyes; the golden-grey of haunted hatred.

Jack frowned. He wondered what it would have been like to be feared. The children would hate him, he thought again. Of course they would. His frown deepened, bring a slight wrinkle to his forehead with his discontent. Snow days would be overcast and dark, full of gloom and sadness and frowns that would be laced on every face; trending faster than currency. Pitch would want his share in the misery of every child as well, giving him the strength he needed to end the Guardians. Jack shook his head and cast the thoughts away. He was alone again, without anyone, without friends, without kids around—and maybe that's for the best. Jack shrugged, perhaps it was.

But Jack wasn't alone for long. The grey skinned man came out of the cold and the dark of the ice, midnight wisps of sandy darkness whirled around till the man was fully formed; his jet black hair pushed back into fully feathered spikes and his gold and grey eyes starring down his narrow nose with a coy smiles. His black trail followed him worse than a shadow, but Jack thought; how beautiful the snow looks, clinging to the darkness.

"I hoped something like this wouldn't happen." He spoke as if his statement should have been serene, but it came out dripping with malice and intent. Pitch's lips turned up to reveal teeth hidden in secret and lies.

Jack knew what the Boogeyman was trying to do, but it still ate at him horribly. He struck, slushy snow flying directly at the grey skinned man with force. Pitch blocked with his sandy darkness and struck back, black betraying the light of the ice around the two of them.

"You think I don't know what it's like!" Pitch screamed, his hand rising unconsciously to cover his heart. Jack assumed it was also broken, or beaten, or just black with malice, because without fear Pitch would disappear, too. "You think I don't know what it's like to not belong to a family!"

Jack paused for a moment, watching as a part of Pitch shattered before him—an honest part. Pitch had been alone for so long, dwelling in fear and anger and loneliness. The boy imagined what that must be like, living in the shadows all day, every day—every night.

"Look, Pitch, I—"

But Pitch would have no explanation, and decided then to pull his bargaining chip, bring Baby Tooth out and holding her in his tight fist, bending her wings to the shape of his fingers wrapped around her tiny body. He grimaced as the beautiful boy rose his staff in defiance. Pitch wanted Jacks staff, or his partnership—all business, Pitch was.

But not entirely, thought Pitch, and he would never fully admit it to himself. He found Jack's demeanor charming, in a sense. Maybe something more lie beneath Pitch's cold mannerism, some sort of affection held between his bones and ribcage.

And even as he snatched the staff from Jack's unwilling hands, regardless of Jack tightening his grip at the last second and being yanked into Pitch's chest with a force of unknown power, Pitch thought; how beautiful the snow looks, clinging to the darkness.

For a moment everything was still, like the calm before the storm. Jack stayed pressed against Pitch's stomach and chest, breathing heavily and cold as ice. Pitch chuckled darkly, but his stomach twisted in uneasy knots, and he knew why; yet he ignored it, fought it and cringed away from it. But he couldn't stop himself, and as his elegant grey hand reached up and stroked the white hair from Jack's cheek, revealing eyes that were far too tightly closed and arms wrapped far too tightly around the taller man's waist.

Pitch marveled in this agreement that both he and Jack seemed to have—some sort of mutual misery—and as he twisted away from the boys grip with the staff clutched firmly in his hands, he grinned smugly, asking; "how does it feel?"

Jack cast his eyes down, Baby Tooth crying out in the grip of Pitch's strong hand. "Why are you doing this?" He asked, his brows furrowed, his fingers clenched into fists. He looked up, but Pitch was gone—vanished into thin air.

A hand crept up his spine, rounding his jaw from behind and stroking his cheek with a single finger as a voice echoed wildly; "because I know what it's like to not be believed in, to not belong, to not have a home or a person in the world to care for you."

Jack froze, letting the slender hand roam over his collarbone as the Boogeyman's dark sand brought his dark figure back into shape in front of Jack. Briefly, Jack's thoughts roamed over the man's slightly exposed chest.

"You could have a home with me. You and I, we could be—"

"Not like this." Jack locked eyes with the other man, his lips pressed together firmly. He knew what Pitch was asking for, had known all along why the man had come to the Arctic.

Pitch smirked, looming over the boy whose shoulders were squared defiantly. Pitch chuckled lowly, his hand roaming back up to Jack's face as he bent at the waist and waited for the boy to pull back—but he didn't, of course not; ice was so unyielding—and Pitch loved that most of all. He traced the soft, pink skin of Frost's lower lips slowly, longingly, biting his own unconsciously; melting at the touch of ice cold flesh. "Very well." Pitch mused softly, gripping the boys jaw in his slender hand.

The Boogeyman snatched a bruising kiss from Jack Frost's lips, tasting snow and ice mixed with malice and fear. His stomach flipped backwards, and he felt, for once, at peace with the bitter snow. This almost frightened him, stirring a far deeper darkness, while Jack Frost marveled in the way the darkness seeped from the grey skinned mans lips into his own, and he sucked and bit at the older man's lips till them were nearly raw with something far darker than love.

Pitch Black wanted more, but stopped himself and took the boy's face in his hands and pushed him away forcefully, when he was nearly satisfied. He felt a coldness clenching his heart fearfully. Frost bit his swollen lips and watched guiltily as Pitch gripped his staff firmly in both hands before snapping it in half and watching the boy crumble, whether in pain or betrayal, Pitch couldn't decide if he honestly wanted to know.

But—Pitch thought—how beautiful it was, the darkness clinging to the snow...


	2. Remember

**Monsoon [two]  
**_Remember_

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"It must be your fear they smell."

Pitch took off, skidding and sliding across slippery ice and down muddy banks to get away from the Nightmares. He was frightened, but it was worth it, if only to see Frost once more. He pushed the thought away as the Nightmares caught up to him, dragging him down, down, down. His last happy thought, he didn't want them to take it from him, so maybe if he cast it away now, he could call upon it if he really needed it—if he really needed to _feel_ Jack once more.

Jack watched longingly, a piece of his heart falling away into the darkness that Pitch was plunged into, followed closely by the creatures of haunted dreams. He knew Pitch would have to overcome his own fear before he would be seen again. For now, children's dreams were safe and far from the reaches of the Boogeyman.

The Guardian's cheered happily—their mission had been a success, they had gotten rid of Pitch Black, for now, regardless of the fact that some of the Nightmares had not been killed and had, in fact, been the downfall of Pitch himself.

The ceremony too, went on as expected. Jack become a Guardian, children would begin to believe in him, Jamie would continue to be his number one fan, and the world would continue to revolve as it always has. All was well.

Or, well, mostly.

North laughed loudly, his cheeks bright red and rosy, the reins of his sled slapping the backs of the reindeer as they took off into the sky. Bunnymund, Tooth and Sandy watched as the small lake disappeared into the distance, becoming nothing more than a small speck. They laughed, the portal to the North Pole opening up in the sky like a sideways tornado, sucking them into a winter wonderland. Jack craned his neck to the worn and shattered remains of a bed frame, scattered across a patch of barren land that was once a gapping hole to the Boogeyman's lair.

But it was too late. Jack never caught a site of Pitch. His lips tingled with an invisible wanting, an invisible desire, hidden deep within his heart. The sleigh was swallowed up by the portal moments later and they were shot back to the North Pole, where the Yeti's greeted them with smiles and howls and the Elves cheered silently.

Jack's heart sank, even though he knew he should have been joyous, his thoughts lingered on the Boogeyman's kiss while they were in the Artic. He jumped from the sleigh with everyone else, turning and admiring the globe with all the glowing dots—all the children who could and would continue believing in them. The Guardians just stood there for a moment longer, all in mutual admiration of the flickering lights; more flickering to life with every second they watched. Soon, much of Africa and Australia were lit up, followed by Europe, Asia, the America's, and all the little islands in between.

Sandy watched the slow, sad smile that spread across Jack's lips in a way that would have been doubtful of their current situation. Everyone was happy, why wasn't Jack? Sandy thought, gripping hold of the boys' worn sweater and tugging lightly.

Jack looked down, a smile that was sad suddenly plastered over with a fake, happy one. "What's up, Sandy?" He asked. Though Jack was unhappy, he was, in fact, genuinely pleased with the present company and situation.

Sandy cocked a brow at him, and question marks appearing above his head. Jack shook his head in response. Bunnymund came up behind them and listened with his big ears, becoming aware of Sandy's worried expressions. Sandy asked about the lake, and about Pitch, but Jack wasn't sure if he was deciphering the markings above the Sandman's head correct, as he was asking too many questions too fast. Jack just shook his head again, lifting his legs and crossing them as he floated weightlessly in the air with his staff laid across his legs.

"He means, you don't seem exultant by our current predicament." Bunnymund cracked a crooked smile at the kid he had grown so fond of, his wide buckteeth shining through rounded, grey, rabbit cheeks.

"I'm fine, guys. Really." He protested, but even North noticed something was up with the boy before Tooth got a chance to speak up and protest.

Santa's jolly laughter turned the Guardians attention towards him, realizing Jack honestly didn't want to talk about the catastrophes going on inside his head right now. "Come," North beckoned, pulling the Guardians aside and ushering them inside his office. He casted a soft glance over his shoulder to Jack as he shut the door just enough to not be considered rude to the current persons inside.

The boy floated aimlessly, a weight heavy on his shoulders. "You know, Jack," North declared, sauntering over the Frost with a smile bigger than his face, "you do not need to stay here. You can go wherever you like!" He extended his arms out wide, signaling freedom. Jack merely nodded. North's smile slowly became a frown, "you're not a prisoner here, Jack. Go; create snowstorms if you must. Come back when you can." He paused, adding; "there will always be a room here for you, should you need it, Jack Frost."

And with that, Jack vanished in a flurry of snowflakes. And Santa thought; how lovely, the snow is when it falls.

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Jack found an entrance in a cave, in a forest off some barren wasteland of a mining town after searching for days. It was dark and desolate, and had been abandoned for many, many years by the time Jack had stumbled into it. He could hear the steady canter of hooves somewhere deep within, and the soft, ever so soft, whimpers of something that was once a man.

"No, please, no." They cried gently, "I can't take anymore." A few Nightmares whinnied, causing a stamped of hooves in the darkness, but they must have been circling the man, because the stamped did not come for Jack down the tunnel of the cave like he had feared.

"I can't take it anymore!" Pitch bellowed loudly, angrily, and the cave shook with an unseen force, but Jack could feel the darkness seeping down the tunnel with a ferocious energy that knocked him back against the sides of the cave where he clung for dear life. Jack closed his eyes tightly and turned his head away, trying to avoid the soot, ash, dirt and rocks that went flying by. The tunnel groaned and creaked and shook with the unseen force as a group of desperate, terrified whinny's echoed down the tunnel in secession, then nothing—then silence; trembling, stunned silence.

Jack peeled himself from the side of the cave and raced to the entrance of the Boogeyman's realm; a realm of endless shadows and endless staircases and hallways that went nowhere at all, but seemed to continue on forever and ever. Pitch was nowhere to be found, at least not within sight of where Jack stood at the moment.

Jack's throat tightened as his stomach flipped backwards several times. His feet seemed to move on their own, pulling him forward towards a globe that was dully lit, covered in a fine layer of grime. He ran his hand against it slowly, rubbing the filth between his fingers as he looked around; searching for the Boogeyman. Pitch was still nowhere in sight, even from the center of the madness. Not a shadow or a shade of the man remained.

"Pitch?" Jack called, involuntary. The layer of dust was everywhere, from the center of the floor to the highest stair case, which seemed unbelievably high compared to the entrance of the cave in which he found the realm in.

But it didn't matter, because no one answered back. Maybe the Nightmares had devoured him, Jack thought, his mind slipping briefly to the thought of how beautifully snow clings to darkness. He slid down the wall behind him and folded his legs together, placing the staff on top of his thighs.

Jack tried to brush away the filth that he realized was covering his clothes, but it just left what looked like oily black stains. He sighed, looking around. "Pitch if you're here, just know that I'm not leaving till we talk."

No one answered back, even as he searched every shadow endlessly. Hours passed, but maybe it had been days since he'd seen the sunshine. Jack didn't care, because oddly enough, he felt right at home in the darkness. He thought of the way Pitch had kissed him, how intense he had tasted, how cold he had felt afterwards. And just how at peace he suddenly felt, here in the darkness that reminded him much more of ice than anything else.

Day slipped into night, without a trace of Pitch Black anywhere. The dully-lit globe shone brightly in the darkness. It seemed to be the only light to hold Jack's fading hopes together. Perhaps, Pitch had just gone off to regain his strength, Jack hoped.

But Pitch had not gone anywhere. He stood far away from Jack, plastered in the shadows of one of the staircases that never ended. Why had the boy come? Why had be abandoned his friends to trap himself in Pitch's domain for days on end? The boy never left. He thought of the Artic, of the soft, peach colored lips and disgruntled face of Jack Frost and the way he had felt so alive, pressed against the cold, hard body of winter. Pitch peered down from one of the middle levels, realizing too soon, that Jack had vanished; leaving wisps of snow in his wake that had hardly had the chance to settle.

"How long were you planning to hide from me?"

And oh, is that his ruptured heart screaming now, at the sound of the ancient boys voice? Pitch scurried backwards, further into shadows, but Jack was faster and reached into the darkness and clutched fabric too rich for his fingertips, and yanked the Boogeyman forward; freeing him of shadows. The Boogeyman cursed, growling wildly as the Guardian looked at him expectantly, a brow cocked at the grey skinned man with interest. "I—uh, I wasn't hiding, least of all from _you_." Pitch seethed, venomously. He ran a hand through his hair roughly, crossly.

He glanced around nervously, then straightened up and focused his attention on Jack. He starred straight down his nose at the boy with white hair, who starred back just as defiantly. "Why have you come here, Jack Frost?" Pitch demanded, his brow furrowed together in agitation, "was it to see my destruction, hmm?" He asked maliciously, pressing on; "was it to humiliate me?"

"No." Jack answered simply, flabbergasted. His fingers still wrapped around the rich fabric at the Boogeyman's wrist. Their eyes drifted to that spot for a moment, and the Boogeyman panicked.

He pulled his wrist away forcefully, drifting back into the shadows behind him and vanishing. "You shouldn't have come here, Jack Frost!" His voice echoed on every wall, every stair, every shade of doubt Jack had about himself. "You shouldn't have come here." The echo sang.

A ghost of a shiver ran up Jack's back, causing his neck muscles to twitch ever so slightly. Jack sighed and scratched his head. "You can't hide from me forever, Pitch. I'll just sit here and wait till morning." He plopped down once more, tucking his legs under him and laying his staff beside him in an attempt to prove himself.

An echoed sigh reverberated throughout the cavern. "Fine, Frost. Have it your way." And Jack noted the sadness tugging at the voice.

But the Boogeyman did not reappear, nor did the Nightmares, and soon, Jack was fast asleep; dreaming of snow clinging to darkness when there is nothing left.

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Pitch watched Jack from a shadow closest to the boy. He felt a small pang of want, of desire, riddled with soft restraint. Pitch remembered the way the boy's lips felt against his, how soft and cold and memorable they had been, and how he had simply released his hate onto the boy, unintentionally. His regret built up guilt, and Pitch was riddled with it.

But Jack was different from any other being Pitch had even met. Jack didn't care about light or dark, good or bad; he was free and gentle, like freshly lain snow. Pitch chuckled to himself at the reference, watching the boy's chest rise and fall rhythmically. He clutch his staff in his sleep in a relaxed position, his mouth parted slightly, breathing softly with a hint of drool in the back of his throat. His right leg was pulled towards his chest while his left was extended out and his head fell slightly to the side, covered by a ratty, dirty, blue hood. Pitch marveled in Jack's beauty, the soft curve of his nose and chin and the plump outline of his peach colored lips.

Pitch moved forward, starring down at the vulnerable Jack Frost. He felt like he should destroy the ancient and eternal strappings of the child; obliterate him with tormented nightmares, but all he could think about was the way darkness clung to snow in an Artic wasteland, and the way blue eyes fluttered open up at him.

"I knew you couldn't stay away."

Pitch backed into the shadows hastily, realizing he'd begun walking far to close towards the pale boy unconsciously, admiring his beauty and feeling his own desires peek.

Jack's eyes fluttered open slowly again, taking in the lack of light and realizing just how much more darker it was now that the sun was no longer present outside. He stood slowly, pushing himself up off of the cold ground and into the same shadow Pitch had disappeared into, only realizing too late that he would end up face to face with the man.

"Jack Frost." Pitch cringed as he spoke the name, but Jack merely smiled.

"Glad to see you haven't run away this time." He tightened his grip on the staff lightly, leaning against it, leaning closer to Pitch as though he might fall into him if he lost his balance.

"I figured I might as well find out why you're here so I can get you to ileave me alone/i."

Jack chuckled, "you don't want me to leave, or else you wouldn't have kissed me before." A cocky smile radiated in the shadows.

Pitch hissed an unintelligible reply and starred down his narrow nose at the boy indignantly, then sighed and his demeanor crumbled before Jack. He didn't speak, merely closed his eyes and gave up control. He grabbed the boys' collar and kissing him without remorse, remembered the way darkness clings to snow when it has nothing left to hold onto.

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**Aaaand another one down~**

**Hopefully, there will only be two more chapters! Hope everyone enjoys so far.**

**R&R please.**


	3. Drowning

**A.N.: Weeeell, there's only going to be one more chapter~  
All the final secrets will be revealed! I hope everyone has enjoyed the story, and _thank you _to everyone who messaged or reviewed this while I've been writing. _Thank you all so much_****.**

_**Enjoy!**_

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**Monsoon [three]  
**_Drowning  
_

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His lips were fire against Jack's icy nape—a groan escaped the boy's freed lips, giving Pitch enough fire to continue back up to the Winter's jaw. His hands felt like molten lava against Jack's bare stomach, leaving red, hot trails of desire whatever and wherever they felt like conquering.

Jack groaned softly as Pitch's tongue slid back against his own—Jack didn't fight; he didn't feel the need to. Pitch grinned against Jack's lips, his hands clutching at the fabric of Jack's tattered sweatshirt as he once more claimed the Winter's lips with bruising force. Pitch's grey skinned arms reached around Jack's waist and clutched him to his chest tightly.

Jack wrapped his arms around Pitch's neck, panting softly as he planted one, two, three softer kisses on the older man's lips before pulling away ever so slowly. Pitch almost felt rejected before realizing that both he and Jack were becoming enveloped in a cloud of feathery darkness—tendrils of inky blackness fell around Jack's ankles and calves, writhing and creeping up his limbs and thighs; some thinker wisps were almost half way to his ribcage, where Jack felt slightly more confined.

But Pitch marveled in the sight of the inky darkness crawling up Jack's bare, frozen skin, thinking; how beautiful, the way darkness clings to snow so lovingly. Chuckling darkly, Pitch released the boy completely; the darkness crept back to their respective shadows and his arms falling slowly to his sides as he turned from the Winter and moved towards a darker hallway.

Stunned at the sudden disappearance, Jack began to tremble. "Pitch," Jack called breathlessly, "wait." His knees felt weak without the older man near him—his very bones wept; forgotten; abandoned. His extremities felt intensely warm compared to how he normally felt—icy cold, chilled to the bones; like Winter's child.

The Boogeyman clearly heard the boy calling, but continued to walk further and further away form Frost, pulling the shadows in close to him—making him nearly invisible from where Jack stood, stunned.

Jack gasped, realizing that Pitch would fade into darkness and escape if he didn't stop the man. So Jack ran, following after the grey skinned man, his feet tapping the pavement repeatedly till he reached Pitch's side—where the darkness fell away and the path before them emerged, clear and resilient. Jack clutching his staff by his side tightly, eyeing the Boogeyman suspiciously. "Pitch," he said the man's name with disdain, "Pitch, look at me."

But Pitch couldn't _stop_ looking at Jack.

From the moment Jack had appeared in his Nightmare Kingdom, Pitch had followed him from the shadows, watched him fly around and longed to share that feeling of the boy so close to him—the mischief they could create together, the beauty they could generate—the feelings of being inadequate, of never being enough; never belonging—Jack could replace those lost feelings of want with a simple kiss; a smile, a moan, a single word to ease Pitch's aching heart.

The Boogeyman stopped when he reached a part of the Nightmare Kingdom that had been his favorite part at one point in time—but why, well, he couldn't remember. It now opened up into an empty wasteland of ash and soot; grime, dust and some sort of dark, oily substance that clung to every empty cell and rotting, crumbling, impossible stairwells. It had once been a prison, but who knows for what—it had been here in the Nightmare Kingdom long before Pitch Black came to claim it as his own lair.

"Why did you come here, Jack Frost?" Pitch Black asked softly, a faint hint of his own surrender tugging at his voice—he had repeated this question many times, but Jack never seemed to answer. He took a seat on one of the many impossible stairwell's steps and starred up at the boy; realizing then, just how impossibly gorgeous the boy truly was.

Jack smiled wholeheartedly, a laugh pulling up from his gut and blooming between his parted, peach colored lips. He would have answered, he should have, but he just shook his head and smiled gingerly.

His staff clattered to the ground, rocking back and forth before settling. He fell to his knees and placed his hands on either side of the Boogeyman's face, pressing their forehead together with a final sigh. Jack's thumb traced the definition along the Boogeyman's jawline with a far lovelier, placid touch than the Boogeyman had ever felt—had ever known—but the grey skinned man's melancholy expression never quite changed.

Jack Frost memorized that face in that instant. Pitch had sad, soft, golden-grey eyes that seemed to be drowning in Jack's presence; a light frown pulled down at the corner of his lips. Winter's child admiring the way the Boogeyman's lips twitched just the slightest at the sound of Jack's voice; even the way Pitch seemed to follow Jack with his eyes as he peeled their faces apart.

"Jack—" Pitch began, his voice soft and longing.

"When you came to the Artic, the Man on the Moon was talking to me." Jack said confidently. "For the first time since…" Jack paused, starring off blindly—remembering his plummet into icy cold water, the desperate pleas of his little sister, the constant nagging of promises forgotten in that one, single instant.

Pitch perked up at that, but only slightly. He stayed in his hunched over position, starring down at Jack and his awkward position. His weight resting on his toes, knee's bent with his thighs pressed together just so, making the Nightmare King dream of—

Pitch tore his eyes away scornfully and scoffed, trying to hide his blatant embarrassment. "Oh, and what did _he_ want?" He sounded disturbed, mirroring something closer to disgust.

Jack scratched the back of his head, shrugging. He appeared coy about the subject, saying; "He just said your name."

Pitch scoffed. "And that's supposed to mean _what_ to me?" He asked, repulsed, his lips loose and hanging in an unsatisfied expression. Pitch rolled his eyes in an uninterested manner and looked away from Frost; and that was one of the hardest things he could've ever done in his entire lifetime.

Jack looked to the spaces in between them indignantly. The space seemed much farther that it actually was, and Jack felt more lost than ever before. He rocked back on his feet and stood, then turned away from the Nightmare King. "Yeah, I guess it's best you don't know…" He whispered, unsure if Pitch heard him or not as he pulled his hood up over his head and slung his staff over his shoulder.

He began to walk away when Pitch found that he couldn't bare to see Winter's child vanish without so much as a second glance. He couldn't bare to see Jack walk away from him. Pieces of his so called _heart_ shattered in the footsteps of Jack's retreating form.

Jack held his head high and proud, trying to fight the urge to turn around and run to the Boogeyman and tell him everything—surrender to the Dark King. He could go back to the North Pole and create blizzards with enough force to cover entire continents—to smother his rage and breaking heart. He could visit Bunnymund and paint eggs in the Warren, hell, he could accompany Tooth and her Fairies and visit the sleeping children, dreaming peacefully due to the Sandman—or tossing and turning due to the Boogeyman's captivating nightmares.

Jack Frost growled. No matter what, Pitch would always be Jack's destiny.

The Boogeyman was breathless watching the boy walk away—feeling a sense of panic taking over every bone, every cell in his body. He grabbed a fist full of shadows and drew them over him like a shroud, disappearing beneath a cover of darkness. Jack stumbled backwards as Pitch crept out of a shadow just in front of him, shrugging off the darkness with hunched shoulders and an unwavering purpose riddled across his expression.

Pitch stood proudly, defiantly, starring down at Jack Frost with gritty intent and pushing the boy against a railing Jack didn't know was there. Jack peered behind him, feeling as though he might lose his balance—only realizing then just how high up they had gotten in the Kingdom and just how hard Pitch was pressing against him. "What the—" he began.

But Pitch acted first, pulling the cold boy into his grasp and landing a hard kiss on his lips, filling the hole in his heart with an odd warmth while Jack Frost, in turn, was filled with a breathlessness that rivaled that of drowning. And Jack knew more about drowning than anyone.

Tongues mashed together, fighting and lashing, lips pulled eagerly, biting and sucking, groaning eagerly; and muted, artic hands worked their ways across a bare, grey chest and stomach. Jack moaned while Pitch's warmer hands moved over his collarbone, and Pitch—becoming far too enthralled with the sounds echoing across his realm from the boy—pulled away slowly, but not completely. He reclaimed Jack's lips once, twice, three more times, just light enough to leave Jack breathless once more.

"It's you." Jack whispered, pulling Pitch back in for a forth time, feeling privileged in the act and gasping for life-giving air hastily. "I asked the Man on the Moon for my purpose." Jack looked up into golden-grey eyes, who starred back wildly—kissing him once more, more passionately again. Pitch knew what he was going to say, and Jack didn't even need to say it to break Pitch's heart into a million lovely pieces. "He said your name."

Pitch grinned cockily, his heart rupturing from within his ribcage despite his calming demeanor. Stroking the side of the pale boys face tenderly, he whispered; "Oh, Jack. I'm almost positive, if the Man on the Moon said anything about me," he paused, breathing in the scent of Jack Frost—the icy, cool, fresh scent of air, —"it wasn't meant in the context of romance."

"I believe it was."

"Then prove it, Jack Frost."


	4. Passion

**Well folks, I'm finished with this story. I may put up an epilogue, but I'm not so sure yet. I hope everyone has enjoyed the story!  
**

**Please leave a review~**

* * *

**Monsoon [four]  
**_Passion_

* * *

The darkness crawled across them like a blanket; their bare bodies warm, sweating, hard and breathless. The air was thick and musky, heavy with heat and desire.

Though through the darkness, ice crept steadily outward from the source, extending and consuming everything in its path in a thick, pure layer of lush, beautiful snow.

A disembodies moan echoed from somewhere amidst the shroud of darkness, filling the Nightmare Kingdom with cries of lusty aspirations. Slick, grey skin moved easily over alabaster flesh; lovely red and purple marks marred both men's bodies—some the result of fingertips clutching too hard or too deep, others from teeth just barely managing not to break skin. Lips were tugged, sucked and bitten red until nothing but gasps of _need_ and _want_ could be heard.

Pitch remained between Jack's slender thighs, hips rocking against bare, boney protrusions rhythmically—pleasantly. Hissing and moaning became a form of currency, traded with cravings that had been ignored for far too long.

"Pitch," Jack moaned, elongating the Nightmare King's name slowly. His nails digging gullies into the back of perfectly grey skin.

The Nightmare King didn't mind, though. He craved it; the feeling of Jack Frost beneath him, withering with every thrust, every smooth finish and split seed. He swallowed up Jack's every sigh and shiver. See, Jack was lithe and just but Pitch never let him get too carried away; controlling the pace with every punishing, vicious roll of his hips. The slick smacking of skin on skin resounded with deep, guttural growls—but the darkness would never tell.

The night slid by in one long, beautifully brutal memory of hot breath and slick skin; bitten-back moans and the constant, throbbing, aching of flesh meeting flesh. Jack's eyes closed tightly, his back arching up as his last moan was choked off in the back of his throat. "Jack," Pitch groaned wantonly—the clenching of Jack around him drove Pitch crazy—his release completely stripped from him as Jack moaned lowly—he released all over their stomachs—and pressed himself closer to the base of Pitch's very being, grinding slowly against the King's throbbing member. Jack took his time in soaking up every last inch of Pitch Black inside him.

Pitch panted, his breast rising and falling rapidly while the sweat rolling from his masculine chest dripped onto the body beneath him. Jack claimed his mouth repeatedly, tugging at his already raw lips.

"Jack, you are pleasantly satisfying." Pitch mumbled against his partner's lips. He pulled away from Jack's mouth slightly, running a hand through the boys winter white hair and clutching a handful of strands at the base of his head, yanking Jack's crown back and exposing his pale, perfect neck.

Jack hissed when Pitch's teeth claimed the freshly bruised skin of his jugular, leaving lovely teeth marks down to his collarbone and back up again. "Wait," Jack begged, feeling Pitch harden inside him once more, "I'm sore, Pitch." He was nearly inaudible with embaressment.

Pitch growled, but hesitantly removing himself from Jack's warm, smooth entrance. Jack groaned, pouting, suddenly feeling rather empty. The King merely chuckled lowly at the Winter's desperation, bowing his head in exhaustion. Jack leaned up, his elbows holding most of his weight as he sighed. A smile tugged mischievously at the corner of his peach colored lips as he stole a soft kiss from the Boogeyman's raw lips. Pitch tried to hid his fatigued smile, but all he could do was rest his body atop Jack's. His arms folded across the Winter's chest lightly while they rested, gaining their breath and composing themselves.

The darkness swooned with Pitch's every satisfied breath. Jack placed a gentle hand on the man's damp back, drawing circles with his fingertips. Could this be? Jack thought lovingly, smiling down at the exalted King. The snow glistened with every flourishing strand of love Jack felt creeping leisurely into his heart.

Jack hummed while they lay tangled together, on a bed of snow and shadow. Pitch simply enjoyed laying his head on the boys' chest and listening to his wild heartbeat pounding within his breast.

Peace—thought Pitch, placing a kiss on Jack's collarbone—doesn't the boy know anything about peace? His teeth grazed the pale skin just light enough to be mistaken for goose bumps. Jack shivered, bemused. Jack is everything the Nightmare King has ever yearned for; ever ached for—mischievous light, fulfilling love, _grace._

Jack grins at him with all his pearly white teeth—and oh, is this a ruptured ventricle? Pitch felt his heart ache and crumble with every

sense of longing beneath his very skin, thriving in every bone. But he breathed, trying to control himself. He buried his head in his arms as his muscles cried out with soreness at every small, tedious movement.

Jack Frost continued to draw circles on the grey skinned man's back. Pitch reveled in the feeling of Jack's soft touches and the feel of the body remaining under him. "Have I proved myself yet?" Jack asked, a sardonic tone to his voice.

Pitch scoffed as he pushed his upper body up slowly, glancing around to see the beautiful disaster of snow and shadow, writhing together on the Kingdom floor, mirroring their masters. Jack Frost looked about, smiling absentmindedly.

How lovely, Jack thought, the monsoon darkness and ice could create out of passion.

"Perhaps." Pitch muttered, a sneer tugging relentlessly at the corner of his lips.

Golden-grey eyes watched the boy casually move from beneath him to a standing position, admiring the raw red marks across his shoulders and neck, wrists and hips and so much more. All _mine_, thought the Nightmare King, satisfied.

Shades receded to the shadows around the Kingdom, pulling away from Pitch himself and leaving him exposed to the grey light and plush snow beneath them. His heart skipped beats as Jack turned to look at him over his shoulder.

He smiled, and Pitch marveled in those upturned lips. "Tell me how you destroyed all the Nightmares, Boogeyman." Jack teased, his brow cocked in genuine curiosity.

Pitch's shoulders tilted, shrugging. He reached for a shadow, pulling it over his lithe form and letting it fall around his feet as he stood and straightened up. "I had this thought," Pitch's lips hung loosely as he spoke, "it was a powerful one. I used it to summon up the rest of my energy and I just—" his hands rose upwards like claws, black sandy darkness swirling around in his palms, clawing up his fingertips and then his slender frame shook with a dark energy that glowed softly against the ever present snow; like motor oil on water.

Jack was fascinated by the darkness swirling so powerfully around them—like they were trapped in the middle of some devistating hurricane. His eyes grew wide with amazement, watching Pitch becoming so enthralled with his powers that it shook the Kingdom; just as the cave had shook. Jack cackled with amusement and wonder.

But Pitch simply sighed joyously and willed the shadows away, bringing his limbs back down to his side as the darkness fell and crept back to the corners. He shrugged again, "—they were gone when I opened my eyes."

Jack Frost mulled the thought over in his head, trying the wrap his mind around the concept. "So," he started off slowly, "basically your power came from some powerful thought, like, what? A _happy_ thought?" He questioned, brows furrowed together in confusion.

Pitch nodded once, firmly.

Jack reached for his staff and tapped it on the ground lightly. A pale stretch of translucent moonlight creeps across the room from Jack's outstretched staff, and inch by inch, Pitch's domain of nightmares was slowly consumed by more and more ice and then, just for Pitch's amusement, long, sharp icicles hung from the ever present upwardly down staircase.

Pitch loved the ascents, a raspy laugh coming forth from his throat, turning into a chortle. For a moment, Jack thought Pitch would destroy it all, but before he could stop him, Pitch was touching a pillar covered in a thick layer of the frozen water and combining his darkness with the ice; twisting and warping the ice into beautifully architected monuments. The wave of darkness attacked the ice again and again; bending it to a completely different shape every time; adding textures and definition.

Jack laughed in disbelief, revealing in the beautiful interior of their combined creation. Pitch loved that laugh and committed it to memory, striding over to Jack's side once more. He curled his slender fingers just above the boys' collarbone, whispering sensually into the boy's ear; "we could be great together."

"Yes." Jack breathed back.

Pitch felt his soul pulling towards the Winter, bending at the waist to place a kiss at his neck.

"What was your _powerful_ thought?" Jack teased, though impressed with the workings of the Boogeyman's imagination, his thoughts became fuzzy with Pitch's lips at his neck. Jack had to lock his knees in place to prevent him from loosing his balance and crumbling beneath the Nightmare King once more.

"_You._" Pitch says without hesitation.

Jack is in disbelief, turning quickly to face the Boogeyman. He searches the man's blank face for a hint of a lie—but finds nothing; nothing at all. Golden grey eyes soften as his hand finds Jack's jaw, his thumb drawing careful circles along his cheek.

"My only thoughts are of you, Jack Frost." Pitch Black professes softly, and Jack Frost believes him.

The Winter kisses the King of Nightmares passionately, furiously hard. They're breathless and desperate, clinging righteously to each other as if this is the last time they'll ever see one another. Two hearts rupture within separate ribcages, spilling over with shadow and ice, rapidly building and becoming one; covering a palace in terrifyingly beautiful sculptures.

Children will be drawn dangerously close to such lovely creations, won't they? The globe could flicker to life with dreams of Guardians, or drown in a river of terrifying fear; either way, Jack Frost didn't care, so long as a shadow remains.

"We could be great together." Jack mutters against the lips of a King.

How beautiful—Pitch thought, pulling away and starring down at the only thing he'll ever truly cherish—the monsoon ice and darkness could create when there is finally something to cling onto.

And they are a_ powerful_ storm, indeed.


	5. Freedom

**Alriiiiight, so now I'm all done. Epilogue is up and I feel accomplished. 3 Thanks again to everyone who read this, and please leave a review~**

* * *

**Monsoon [epilogue]  
**_Freedom_

* * *

"Has anyone seen Jack lately?" Bunnymund asked from behind his hand of cards. He smirked up at his opponent, who sneered back deviously. The Easter Bunny throws down a royal flush, a cocky smile puffing up his bunny cheeks. Sandy gapes at the hand and slammed his head against the table in defeat. He throws his cards in the air and saunters off to pout by himself.

Bunnymund sputtered. "Awh come on, Sandy! Don't be such a spoil-sport!" The Pooka calls after Sanderson, laughing despite his friend's poor attitude.

Sandy waves his hand behind him, disregarding the rabbit's taunts. He always sucked at poker anyways. Bunnymund clicks his tongue at the spirit, turning his attention to North and Tooth who were having an animated, jolly conversation.

No one answered his question, so he repeated it again; "Has anyone see Jack lately?"

North turns his attention to the six foot creature and thinks for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek before shaking his head. Tooth frowns, whispering; "good point. I hope he's okay."

They have their answer when a harsh wind slams open a window in North's Kingdom. Snow builds and spills over onto the floor of the workshop, covering the toys closest to that window in a blanket of ice.

"What the—?!" Bunnymund cried, his table being blown away by a second wind—a sandy darkness flittering over the floorboards like a heavy layer of fog, creeping steadily to the shadows and dispersing.

The Yeti's turn their attention towards the window, howling in anger as the dark figure waltzed into their home so fearlessly.

"Pitch!" North cried, his swords already drawn. Bunnymund jumped for his boomerangs, but Jack stood in front of him, as if he came out of thin air, with a smug smile plastered on his face.

"Heya rabbit." Frost teased.

Sandy is above them in mere second, floating on a cloud of golden sand with his whips poised to take down Pitch at any second. He couldn't believe Jack would bring the King of Nightmares anywhere near him, especially after he basically_ killed_ the Sandman.

But—Sandy sees—there is something different in the way Pitch carries himself. Sandy listens intently as the conversation unfolds.

"Well, well, well. The _Guardians_." Pitch taunts, a hand resting on Jack's shoulder; as if to say _mine, all mine._ His lips hang loosely in a cocky smile as the darkness crawls back to his side from the corners of Santa's workshop.

The Elves scurried away behind the bulking Yeti, their bells frantic and screaming in fear.

Bunnymund glares at the hand resting on Jack, glares at the King of Nightmares, glares at Jack for his betrayal. "What have you done, Jack?" He asked pointedly, a snarl evident in his accented voice.

Tooth panicked at the sudden appearance of Pitch Black and Jack Frost, asking; "Jack, why did you bring him here?" But she doesn't raise a finger to fight, though her fairies automatically stand guard; furious about the last time they came in contact with the Boogeyman.

All is silent until Jack raises his hand in surrender, bowing his head respectively to his friends—peace, he thinks, doesn't anyone know anything about peace? "Pitch and I have come to a sort of—" he searches for the words, finding them easily, "—mutual grounds?"

They Boogeyman grins.

Bunnymund slowly lowers his boomerangs and North brings his sword back to his side, interested in this story. "What kind of mutual grounds?" North asks.

The fairies still stand guard in front of Tooth, and above them, Sandy stays poised with his righteous whips of sand. Interesting, Sandy thinks, a smile tugging at his ever-silent mouth.

"Yeah, what _kind_ of _mutual grounds_?" Bunnymund scrutinizes the Dark King, then eyed Jack cautiously—spotting something that would have never crossed him mind normally. "Does it have anything to do with those marks on your neck?" He points, looking harder, realizing the flowering bruises go all the way down his shoulder and mirror the other side of Jack Frost's alabaster neck. The rabbit scoffs, a disbelieving smile on his puffy Pooka lips; "Fraternizing with the enemy, Jack, really?"

Jack blushes, his hand reaches up to touch the sore marks. He hisses, drawing his hand away and bowing his head. He seems lost for words and merely looks away from Bunnymund to North. The jolly man's cheeks are bright red with mirth, and he smiles back at Jack, slightly dumbfounded—but relaxed.

Pitch laughs, loudly and without humor. "Oh rabbit," he protests, "you are _too rich_." He runs a slender finger across Jack's blossoming red and purple marks before turning back towards the window they'd entered from. He had concluded his business—he was done here and it was time to leave.

A tall, multicolored Yeti approaches him, fists clenched and pounding against once another.

But Pitch jumped through a shadow and continues on past the surprised Yeti, saying; "I merely came as a peace offering." His voice is harsh once more, and Jack Frost cringes. "Jack and I share a mutual relationship—" he words his statement carefully, though everyone knows what that _mutual relationship_ consists of, "—and I will leave the Guardians to their own demise." He eyes Jack over his shoulder, adding; "so long as Jack remains beside me."

And with that, Pitch is swept away in shadows, grabbing Jack Frost's hood in a last ditch effort to save the boy from the astonished Guardians and their relentless questions that were sure to come should he stay.

"Remember, dear Guardians, All Hallows Eve is not so far off." A disembodied voice calls, hints of mischief and malice line the statement.

Tooth is stunned and disappointed, but the Sandman merely shakes his head with a hint of a glee playing on his silent lips. His sandy whips disintegrated as he comes back down to the level of the other Guardians. The Easter Bunny and North were still trying to process the information but they all begin to laugh and reveal in the idea of _peace_.

Maybe.

* * *

As expected, Halloween rides in on Autumn wings. It's colder than normal this time of year, oddly enough. But only Pitch knows why.

The Guardians are prepared for any sort of mischief from Jack, or nightmare-ish _anything_ from Pitch. But everyone's got to survive, and this is the only time of year they give Pitch Black his peace of mind for one whole day.

Children emerge from their respective houses, clad in monstrous costumes—fangs, masks, the sort—and their parents following close behind with other adults in their wake.

The small ones stay in groups, giggling, laughing, buzzing with excitement. Some stop and stare at a tree containing two spirits for just a moment. Some scare easily, running or walking quickly away, their heads down to the ground as if _willing_ themselves not to look at the Boogeyman. But then others assume them participants and then they're off again, running towards houses and crying; "trick-or-treat!"

Jack sits on the thick branch of a low hanging, twisted tree with his legs hanging over and a smile plastered to his lips. He loves the laugh of children—he loves being seen by them. Pitch leaned against the trees trunk, never too far away from Winter's child—he seemed uninterested as he stared up at the crescent moon.

"Samhain smiles down on this night, Jack Frost." Pitch muttered softly. Jack looks at the man, expecting him to be excited about tonight—after all, All Hallows Eve was Pitch's favorite day.

But he's not looking at the moon anymore. Jack follows his gaze, which is focused on a lone child dressed as a princess, tiara and all. Darkness swirls around Pitch's palm and then a Fearling appears beside him. It's broad shoulders are squared and it neighs, head bobbing with excited, yellow eyes.

Pitch nods towards the princess, and the Fearling is running full speed towards her. Jack hisses as the dark horse reaches the child and she screams—terrified. Children are so easily frightened of the Boogeyman and his shadow creatures.

Jack raises his staff defiantly, despite the heated glare of the Nightmare King, and a beam of ice sparks and crushes the Fearling into a million pieces—but it simply crawls off into shadow and slips back into the Nightmare realm.

"You know I hate when you do that while I'm around." Jack says, trying to hide his disgust as the child's scream echoes in his mind over and over and over again.

Her mother comes to pick her up and cradles her. The girl is quiet of terror once more, trying to convince her mother of the two men standing by the tree and the giant horses with yellow eyes. Her own eyes remain wide and horrified, but with her mother so close, she feels safer—as if the nightmares cannot reach her now.

Jack hops down from his branch and saunters away from Pitch, trying to clear his mind. The first step away from Pitch is painful, but the next is easier, and the next three are easier still.

"Jack." Pitch calls in a deep, lusty voice, pushing himself off the tree. "Jack, I will not apologize for simply surviving. You know this night is—"

"I know, Pitch." Jack says airily, looking over his shoulder. He sighs and stops walking. The grey skinned man in on him in seconds, a stern expression hardening his features. To the Boogeyman's surprise, Jack takes his hand and kisses his knuckles lovingly. "I know you're just surviving and this is what you have to do."

Pitch's features soften, but not by much—it's too unlike him to be completely happy. But Jack is okay with that, even as Pitch's expression changes to a form of sadness, and Jack can only tell by the way he avoids the Winter's eyes and his forehead wrinkles slightly. Jack cradles Pitch's cheek in the palm of his hand, and the frost from his skin _bites_ Pitch, ever so lightly.

"Forgive me, Jack. I must continue." And he kisses Jack softly, deeply, then slipped off into a shadow until morning.

And then, snow moves into town, slowly consuming roof tops and sidewalks. The children return home with their splendors and spoils of the night, where darkness plagues their dreams. But come sunrise, their nightmares will be over, and the darkness will crawl back under their beds and into their closets, where it will hide.

And come sunrise, the King of Nightmares that is Pitch Black will crawl back to the Ice Prince that is Jack Frost.

But great love demands great sacrifice, and so, the nightmares continue until sunrise, and the snow will fall until the King returns.


End file.
